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The Strange Power
“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.” ― Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses Yesterday marked six months to the day that our beloved dog, Bonnie, died in her sleep. I don’t ponder it as much as I once did, but each time I remember the moment that I realized Bonnie was gone, I feel as if I have been kicked in the stomach. The sense of her being stolen from us is as raw and punishing as it was half a year ago. My grief for my dog caught me by surprise. I never expected to mourn an animal the way I did Bonnie.…
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Let’s Test That Theory
Yesterday, I spent considerable time thinking on the subject of suffering and how we face trials. If suffering comes today, I thought with the glib certainty of theoretical emotion, I would be able to endure it better than in the past. In the evening, our nearest neighbor, a dear woman whom we love and appreciate, came to the door bearing gifts. She had almost two dozen large brown eggs from her son’s hens, and a sack full of tomatoes and cucumbers. We stood chatting in the fading light while the hummingbirds flew resupply missions in the muggy air above our heads. Nodding at the eggs, she said, “We’ve got to…
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And All He Got Was This Gideon’s Bible
Last night just at dusk, my white-faced old dog began kicking up a fuss, quickly joined by my wife’s little alleged dog. They were at the glass patio door, and when we went to investigate, we assumed the possums had showed up early for supper. But no. There were three baby raccoons scampering up the Japanese maple just outside the door. It was raining pretty steadily, and they seemed content to rest up in the leafy bows of the treetop. The dogs were not as content to rest. I truly hope the ‘coons do not hang around. Despite my affection for living creatures, I have strong memories of the predations…